Like Fictions You Would Make
by Quixoticisms
Summary: Watching her was like a drug-temporary relief, only to be plunged into emotional plummeting moments after. Sam/Lirael because they shouldn't have been related.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi, so this is my venture into Old Kingdom territory seven years after I last touched the books. I remember Sabriel and Touchstone pretty well since I've read Sabriel to tatters. But I really only read Lirael and Abhorsen once-and never after that (because I desperately wanted Sam and Lirael together only to find out that Garth Nix made them RELATED *cries*) Anyway, here's my sort-of AU that'll be centred around Sam/Lirael just because they were such a good couple until they became related (WHY, WHY, WHY!)

**Disclaimer: Everything familiar is Garth Nix's genius**

**Warning: If you are offended by any hint of incest, please exit now. By nature this isn't intentionally incest, but circumstancially-because Garth Nix gave them such good chemistry only to dash my matchmaking hopes. Sniffle.**

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><p><strong>Like Fictions You Would Make<strong>

_In a nightmare, I am falling from the ceiling into bed beside you_

_You're asleep, I'm screaming, shoving you to try to wake you up_

_And like before, you've got no interest in the life you live when you're awake_

_Your dreams still follow storylines, like fictions you would make_

_-Epilogue, by The Antlers_

It was the evening of Ellimere's birthday, and Lirael sat upon the dais alongside the queen and her husband, watching the masses on the ballroom floor as they waltzed and mingled to a general cacophony of merriness. Laughing and chattering gaily, the princess in question seemed to be enjoying herself, and from Lirael's sideways perusal of her sister and brother-in-law, Sabriel and Touchstone were every bit the satisfied rulers and proud parents they deserved to be for the evening.

A slight frown made its way upon her face upon dawning realisation that her nephew had yet to make his presence known-a habit he had come to adopt of late; and one which his mother had been chiding him for since the pattern emerged. The King, however, chose a more passive approach, dismissing it as a 'symptom of delayed adolescence'; _Sameth would grow out of it in a few months, it was probably some moodswing or other_, he had reasoned.

'Delayed adolescence' indeed; Lirael would snort, echoing in sentiment her sister's incredulous protest-_'Adolescence-Charter forbid! He's already twenty-and-three, Touchstone!' _And so with each no-show, Sabriel continued nagging her son's absence, and her husband continued to brush off the young man's behaviour. Today, however, it seemed they had let the matter rest in favour of their shared joy in celebrating the anniversary of their daughter's birth.

Seeing their entwined fingers resting over the armrests of the adjacent chairs, Lirael's heart warmed at their lasting companionship and complementary natures. She was glad that her half-sister had found someone like Touchstone, but it was times such as these that rendered the Disreputable Dog's absence all the more a stark, gaping hole within her consciousness. Feeling the emptiness creep upon her, she averted her eyes away from the couple, sweeping her gaze blindly across the ballroom for a few seconds before resolutely reaching out a hand to touch her sister's elbow.

"Sabriel, I'll be heading for a walk to clear my head," She managed to muster a tired smile as her sister looked over worriedly. "I'll be fine with a bit of fresh air, don't worry."

"If you're sure,"-a hesitant stare, and a squeeze of her hand. "Take care, sister."

Touched by her genuine concern, sincerity melded into her smile as she returned the squeeze and slipped out of the room through the door leading to the gardens.

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><p>He'd been watching her.<p>

It had been survival instinct at first, when they first met as wandering strangers-that I'll-watch-your-back-and-you'll-watch-mine thing that was necessary out on the terrain, especially with the undead rampant as they were. Then as the days passed he found that watching her had gradually taken on the simultaneous role a soothing routine-perhaps because he'd only get a peace of mind when he was certain of her safety. Nevertheless, even when they transitioned into their stable lifestyle in the palace, he continued to watch her, for-and he realised this only as he pondered it-it had become some sort of fix, some sort of security blanket that was the sole remedy to an underlying, soul-searing anxiety.

And maybe-maybe if he was being brutally honest within the recesses of his own mind-he'd admit that she had become an obsession of sorts.

But really, it was just deep concern for an aunt, right?

It made sense really; having spent a certain amount of time with her as his travelling companion, they'd undoubtedly have forged a close friendship, so his concern _was_ justified. And with her tendency of bottling up her grief over the passing of her loyal companion Dog, this made it all the more so.

But until he noticed his father's own dark gaze trained on himself, he remained oblivious to the fact that with each shared presence, his eyes were inevitably drawn to her form.

And so he formulated a strategy to avoid being in her presence when others were around; which turned out to be not-that-fantastic a strategy after all: it only served to turn his mother into a nagging-automaton and his father, into an individual possessing an air of knowing that sent tendrils of panic and a perpetuating anxiety through him.

It was precisely this unsettling and growing anxiety that bothered him the most. Watching her was like a drug-temporary relief, only to lead to emotional plummeting only moments after. Some days, just to avoid his father's penetrating, watchful eyes, he'd shut himself in his chambers or leave the castle altogether for the entire day. Yet the throbbing itch that originated somewhere from between his heart and his gut always seemed to worsen then; and all his mind would be coherent of was her name, her eyes, and her sarcastic wit.

He tried-oh, how he'd tried-approaching her. There were many an evening where he had padded down the hallway with the intent of seeking her out, just for a walk, just for old times' sake; and yet arrived at her door, fist poised to rap on the wooden surface, to find himself cowering and hesitant as a skittish pony. And night after night he had trudged back in shame, the shadows mocking his pansy-like behaviour as he made his way back down the same corridor.

On the evening of Ellimere's birthday, he had attempted to blend with the crowd in the ballroom and had eschewed the royal dais at the head of the room, just so that he could watch her for once, without worry (for he would have the excuse of watching his parents; since she sat directly beside them).

From his vantage point somewhere along the edge of the ballroom, he could see the emotions play across her face-a warm smile that gave way to a sad, upward-tilt of her lips as she watched his parents. _She was missing Dog_, he quickly realised. But as that hit him, he spotted her making her way off the steps and towards one of the exits.

He wasted no time in following.

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><p><strong>AN: Any factual mistakes so far? *Shifty eyes* (This'll be a two-shot, by the looks of it)**

**On another note: IF YOU'RE A SAM/LIRAEL FAN SAY 'AYE'!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Part Deux, and not the end. I apologise for the shortness of this chapter-but I've met with a dilemma: What does Sameth do?! (It comes at an excruciatingly irritating point, at the peak of his heartache) As of now I've got a shadow-y idea, but I'm open to suggestions :)

**Disclaimer: Garth Nix's Characters (except for Jonathan the Bee-Keeper). Garth Nix's backstory.**

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><p><strong>Like Fictions You Would Make<strong>

_Men and women in blue and white, they are singing all around you_

_With heavy shovels holding earth_

_You're being buried to your neck_

_In that hospital bed_

_Being buried quite alive now_

_I'm trying to dig you out but all you want is to be buried there together_

_-Epilogue, by The Antlers_

"_Lirael_."

It was spoken with such tender urgency that for a moment Sam was surprised that words had burst forth from his lips before he'd even felt them part. Then he spotted the figure approaching hers from his shadowed vantage point by the bricked doorway, and the illusion shattered-along with something inside of him that came with the realisation that she'd left to meet another man.

No, not 'another' man-for there had never been the slightest hint of any romantic liaison involving her; Dog had left too large a hole in her heart for it to do so-or so he had assumed and taken as an excuse for maintaining his spineless charade of unrequited lover.

Which was why this discovery came as a double blow.

Perhaps, though, he had jumped to a premature conclusion. Perhaps she hadn't set off with the intention of partaking in this clandestine meeting; and estranged friend and jealous lover he was, he had taken in the romanticism of the clear night sky and rustling trees and assumed the worst.

From a purely Lirael standpoint, more likely she hadn't meant to seek out whoever it was standing there in the garden with her now-if he knew her character-and he'd like to think so, especially since he'd spent quite a period of time on one of the most life-changing journeys with her (and Dog, of course).

"Jonathan," her voice sounded startled, questioning, even. Accidental meeting, then-_on her part, at least_.

"I see you came out for some night air as well?" The man, vaguely familiar, launched smoothly into small talk, as the pair stood in the semi-shade of a sparsely-leafed tree.

"Yes." Her reply was short and polite-he couldn't help the petty satisfaction that ghosted upon his self upon sensing the awkwardness of their conversation. "How are the bees?"

Ah yes, the palace Bee-Keeper.

He swore not to consume palace-made honey anymore.

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><p>The awkwardness was overwhelmingly oppressive, and Lirael couldn't help but contemplate whether she would trade another experience with her bells, facing down the Dead, for immunity against such awkward situations.<p>

(She would; certainly and gladly.)

"The bees have been great," was his stilted reply, delayed a beat by-no doubt-his incredulity at her lacking conversational skills.

It wasn't that she was socially inept or anything of that sort. Her social skills were perfectly passable-the problem was more specific to her conversational partner, rather; whose overly-amiable behaviour of late seemed to be suspiciously edging beyond the platonic line-something she was wholeheartedly against, hence her attempts to thwart any potential opportunity for that line to be crossed.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she felt fingers tug gently at her hair, and her name breathed upon her forehead.

She couldn't suppress the gasp at the sudden intrusion of personal space, instinctively twisting to the side. Arms reaching to cradle herself at the sudden vulnerability, she stubbornly ducked her gaze even though she could feel the weight of his upon her.

For what seemed like too long, all she could hear was the faint sounds of the cicadas, drowned out by the wild racing of her heart. _Say something_, the voice in her head hissed desperately. And when she did, they spoke together in a jumbled mess of soulful consonants:

" I can't, I'm sorr-"

"Lirael, I love y-"

At that moment, Sameth entered the garden.

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><p><strong>AN: This chapter is dedicated to awkward situations-may they cease to exist in our lives. **

**(And just in case by some freaky slip of nature anyone who knows me in real life comes across this, Jonathan's name does not hold any awkward significance to me personally; his name was chosen entirely at random. In fact, I have many friends named Jonathan.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, firstly (as I forgot to do in the previous chapter), a great big THANK YOU to all who reviewed, from the bottom of my heart. I really appreciate the suggestions and comments; and am glad to see that there are Sam/Lirael fans out there. The (Abhorsen fndom) world seems much less lonely with fellow shippers out there. On this note, if anyone out there is reading this; please, please, PLEASE contribute to the Sam/Lirael pool-this is a plea from a fervent Sam/Lirael junkie. And no, they don't have to be related so it isn't technically incest unless you're insistent on sticking to canon. So...*hinthint* :D

For my part, this will be slightly AU for several reasons; one of which I want to point out being Sam's characterisation.

Sam may or may not have changed during subsequent books, but I don't know if he did (or if he even had any appearances after Abhorsen). In any case (because I refused to continue reading when I found out their blood ties prevented any viable romance between Sam and Lirael), my Sam is an in-between one who's on the verge of attaining the maturity of adulthood, but not quite yet. So if Sam seems OOC or anything, this is just a heads-up that I've intended him to be like this specifically.

**Disclaimer: Garth Nix's. And on with the show we go.**

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><p><strong>Like Fictions You Would Make<strong>

_So I lie down against your back_

_Until we're both back in the hospital_

_But now it's not a cancer ward_

_We're sleeping in the morgue_

_-Epilogue, by The Antlers_

Lirael recovered first, uttering his name with what sounded (to his childish gratification) vaguely like a hint of relief.

To his credit, whether or not the Bee Keeper detected her sentiment, he hid any other reaction well, save a curt, frustrated nasal exhalation. _Likely at my interruption_, Sam thought with petty glee-an emotion that was becoming a constant companion that night. Nevertheless, the lanky man followed up with belated and elementary decorum in the brief nod and murmured verbal greeting, "Prince Sameth."

"Lovely evening, is it not?" The Prince bade dryly, before turning to Lirael in a purposeful manner. "Sorry for interrupting, but Mother's tasked me to fetch you to her room-something about wanting to discuss urgent border matters."

He was scarcely able to contain his mirth at the relief that flooded her orbs for the split second before she hid it. With a sudden surge of empathy for her awkwardness (and perhaps mostly because he was taking a little too well to the role of competitive suitor), Sam quickly addressed the other man with all the contrived sincerity he could muster; "My apologies sir, but Lirael's presence is required elsewhere at the moment; if we may depart now...?"

Naturally, the Bee Keeper conceded to Sameth's diplomatic prompting, a skill he'd honed after years of court education that he'd been subjected to, upon his parents' insistence. And so extending his arm to Lirael (as courtly decorum once again required), he briskly escorted her down one of the paths leading across the garden, towards the royal wing of the palace-a location that Jonathan the Bee Keeper was conveniently barred from under ordinary circumstances.

He maintained his brisk stride up the spiral staircase, and did not cease his ascent even as they passed the level of Sabriel's chambers. Sometime during their climb, his hand slipped from its more formal position in a clenched fist, arm hooked in support of her wrist placed upon his forearm, into a more intimate handhold, his fingers squeezing hers in instinctive comfort.

"So Sabriel wanted to discuss the urgent border issues," She offered dryly, failing to hide her amusement when he finally led them up to the roof.

"Indeed. The cows along the border, you know," he intoned, with the most serious and concerned voice he could maintain; but was unable to stop the grin that slipped out at the end.

His heart stuttered when she gave an answering half-grin-a grin that he had not seen directed solely at him in a long time-and then again when he realised that she'd yet to tug her hand away.

"Thank you, Sameth."-uttered quietly in such a heartfelt, essentially Lirael manner, and accompanied by a squeeze of fingers.

Then all too soon, hands parted gently, and the grin melted into a contemplative (if a little melancholic) expression as she turned half-away to lean against the stone ledge.

Silently, subtly, Sameth took in the scene-the expression on her face, tendrils of hair fluttering gently in the night breeze-as the moonlight encased her in the sort of cliched, ethereal glow that those sodding poets harped on about and that he'd never fully realised the attraction of until that moment.

_Charter forbid, he was starting to sound like one of them._

Then he noticed the blankness that was starting to eclipse her previous expression, watching with a dawning panic as old Lirael retreated back into her post-Dog shell, and softly interjected; "How've you been, Lirael?"

To his relief, the question was effective in casting out the blankness. However, in typical fashion, she didn't answer it, but instead casted curious eyes to his profile as he perched beside her in a mirrored stance. He could hear the silent query, wondering at his sudden sentimentality-for their relationship had always comprised unspoken emotional support; rarely did they voice aloud the _'Are-you-okays_' and the _'I'm-here-for-yous'_. Those sentiments were nonetheless relayed, somehow-it was a sort of mutual understanding they had come to.

Casting his gaze to an invisible point into the darkness below, he smiled faintly. "I just miss...everything."

_I miss you_, was what he meant, really; but he was fairly certain she understood-as she always did when it came to many things. _This_ was the fundamental nuance underlying their bond.

No, he wasn't afraid of losing their special kindred telepathy of sorts. In fact, what he was more afraid of was losing the battle against confining the single sentiment that had been clawing and raging from within him-all because their bond facilitated the bursting of the proverbial dam. And more than that, he was struggling with the irony and the wrongness of it all.

Sameth the realistic coward was afraid to see the revulsion and shock that would undoubtedly flood her entire disposition once she got wind of it.

Sameth the optimistic fool yearned for the release and looked to the soul-resonating joy that accompanied her acceptance.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as she turned back to watch the same darkness.

_I love you_, he longed to whisper.

And she wouldn't speak, but her lids would be lowered in contemplation as she pondered the weight in his words, the implications of each consonant. He'd step closer and gently pull her against himself, and she'd allow his arms to cradle her as she'd finally tilt her face up to his, tender lips parting-

He yanked himself back to the present with a bitter smirk of self-condescension, and her response came; belatedly and softly, yet not any less audible-

"Me, too."

But he knew that close as they were, their telepathy didn't work all the time, even if he sometimes fooled himself into thinking it did.

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><p><strong>AN: In retrospect, so much for avoiding awkward moments-Jonathan's characterisation was fully coincidental but bizzarely 'prophetic'. Grah. I WANT MY SAMETH :( Hope all of you managed to avoid awkward moments in your own lives anyway.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Question-what's the age difference between Sam and Lirael again? Somehow I'm getting the impression that (and I'm not sure whether it was specifically mentioned in the books or not) Ellimere's older than Lirael/very close in age to her but Sam's a little younger than Lirael. Would really appreciate if any kind soul can tell me if their relative ages were mentioned in any of the books, but if not, I'm just going to assume a two year gap between our(my) favourite heroine and hero :)

I'll be taking some liberties with Nicholas Sayre (needed him out of the picture) and Lirael will be a _little_ OOC.

Just to be explicit, this will NOT be incestuous...though Sam's dilemma still stands (you all should probably be able to hazard a guess how that figures ;))

**_Thank you (thank you thank you) for all your wonderful and heartfelt reviews-they give me warm fuzzies and motivate me, truly :)_**

**Disclaimer: Garth Nix owns everything but the plot. He destroyed my dream of Lirael and Sameth's babies :'(**

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><p><strong>Like Fictions You Would Make<strong>

_"You're screaming_

_and cursing_

_and angry_

_and hurting me-"_

_-Epilogue, by the Antlers_

Staring out into the night-time view from their perch on the roof, Lirael contemplated Sameth's timely rescue from Jonathan with a ghosted amusement, and subsequently an appreciation of their indefinable relationship, which, in retrospect, had of late evolved into one similar to the close bond she and a dearly beloved black canine once shared.

_And there she went, diving headlong into Melancholy again. Perhaps matron-dom had infiltrated her being already, after all?_

Inwardly amused at her cynical soliloquy, she barely caught her companion's-Nephew's ( it still felt too strange a concept that she was Aunt to he, who was barely any younger than she was)-words.

"-you been, Lirael?"

As she pondered his words, a subconscious part of her was grateful for the fact that he hadn't taken to addressing her as 'Aunt' so blatantly; the use of her name over the familial title brought to mind the period of their voyage and all their companionship stood for. Then she puzzled at the uncharacteristically sentimental nature of the question as it sunk in-for rarity it was, of their dynamic.

It seemed that he understood her puzzlement, for when he spoke next, his words, uttered quietly, were all the explanation required.

"I just miss...everything."

And then it hit her, triggering a cascade of realisations-why she, a lone-ranger by nature, had come to accept and appreciate his companionship and presence so readily; the inexplicable yet irrevocable strings that linked them together-and she later on came to ask herself why she'd failed to notice it earlier: they'd been two peas in the lonely pod all along.

She should have realised sooner: he was the younger child, unwittingly cast to the shadow of his sister's accomplishments. And though not lacking in parental affection, it was obvious that he had not much opportunity for the companionship of a friend since they returned to the safety of the palace, with Nicholas away on his own quest for self-discovery.

The next instant, as if conjured by some magical wind, there came an unmistakable voice of someone she'd only ever heard in her dreams these days; "_He misses _you_, O daft mistress of mine_."

The voice held the same dry, affectionate, familiar timbre, albeit tinged with an echo that hinted at a vast distance of separation; and for a moment, the familiar prickling in her eyes threatened to bring forth tears of longing for her old friend. Just as abruptly, a warm blanket of comforting _something_ descended upon her.

Drawing a silent breath of fortitude-as she knew Dog had intended for her to do-she resolved to reach out to him-for she once had Dog to keep her afloat her reservoir of solitude; he'd not the buoy she found in her canine mentor-figure.

With these dual epiphanies, she began to perceive the implications behind his subdued demeanor and sudden mood-swings between the brooding Sameth who remained the crux of her sister's worries, and the Sameth who had just whisked her out of a horrendously awkward encounter and currently stood reminiscing beside her.

"Me, too."

And so she gave her belated verbal reply, the two spoken words voicing a simple oft-uttered agreement, yet the fact that she even provided a verbal response was uncharacteristically sentimental for someone of her disposition; and she knew he understood it perfectly.

Later on, as they strolled together back in the direction of their respective chambers to retire for the evening, she found just how much of a hurdle it would be to take on her endeavour as she internally struggled with an impulsive idea that leapt into her mind. It was obvious enough, apparently, for he picked up on her inner conflict and waited patiently by her door when they came to a halt at her room.

By the light of the flickering torches, she could see the curiosity in his eyes as they scanned her mien. It was well warranted, she conceded wryly-considering how out-of-sorts she'd been that night. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and determinedly focused on the stone-bricked wall behind him while voicing her question, "Will you...teach me self-defence?"

She could feel his surprise even without looking at him.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews are love :) And Happy, Peaceful Christmas (or Hanukkah) to everyone!**


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